Vivi only barely managed to keep from snorting, and she could tell Rhys felt it because his smile against her temple widened.
“You promised that last time, and it lasted, like, two minutes,” Sara replied, and Rhys moved his hand from behind Vivi to briefly press it against his chest, miming a fatal shot.
Vivi bit her lip to keep from laughing even as she was suddenly very aware of the back of Rhys’s hand there between them, his knuckles brushing her collarbone. Even though she couldn’t see his hand, his fingers, she could picture them perfectly, the elegant bones of them.
You have musician hands, she’d said to him once. They’d been lying in the tiny bed in her dorm room, Rhys’s feet hanging off the end of the bed, the sheet sticking to their sweaty bodies. Vivi had been dreamy in her post-sex haze, playing with his fingers, tangling and untangling their fingers, scratching her nails along the back of his hand as he’d studied it in the candlelight.
Pardon you, madam, these are sorcerer’s hands, he’d replied. Can’t play a single note.
And then she’d taken that hand she’d been playing with and urged it under the sheet, between her legs, right where she’d wanted it, a move so bold it had made her blush, but she’d done it anyway.
In that case, she’d said, I know a spell you could cast.
He had. Over and over again.
For a hell of a lot longer than two minutes.
Hainsley and Sara were still talking, but Vivi wasn’t listening anymore, and even though Rhys had made it very clear that he couldn’t read her mind, she felt like he had to know what she was thinking about, what she was remembering. He’d gone so still against her, his breath slow and even, and when he ducked his head, just the slightest bit, his nose skimmed her jaw, making her shiver.
Just that. The littlest touch, and her nipples stiffened against his chest, her breath coming a little faster as every nerve in her body came to life.
Slowly, she let her hands unclench from her sides, resting them tentatively on his hips.
Rhys took it as the invitation she’d intended him to, pressing in even closer. No accident this time, no awkwardness. This was deliberate. He was hard against her, and she raised one foot off the floor, wrapping her calf around his, tilting her hips away from the wall as he lowered his head, lips drifting over the place where neck met shoulder and making her squeeze her eyes shut even tighter.
One hand was on her lower back, the other still flat against the wall next to her head, and they stayed that way for a long moment, the press of his lips not firm enough to be a kiss, and Vivi had to fight to keep from whimpering as his mouth slid up her neck, breath hot and damp.
Her hands had moved up from his hips to press against his back, the leather of his jacket cool against her palms, and his hand was cuffed around the back of her neck now, but he still hadn’t kissed her, and she wondered if he, like her, was telling himself that as long as it was just this, these touches, this bare hint of lips on skin, it wasn’t a mistake.
It was easy to think that in the darkness, not able to see him, not being able to speak. Easier to just touch and feel.
To want.
Then, from outside the closet, Vivi heard a thump.
She went still, felt Rhys lift his head from her neck as Hainsley said, “You’re right. This place probably is too freaky to get freaky in. Wanna at least explore it or something? See what other creepy stuff is here?”
Vivi could suddenly see Hainsley’s face as he threw open this closet door and found his history professor—the history professor whose class he was currently failing—wrapped around some random dude, her face flushed, her hair mussed.
No, that was not about to happen.
It was time for Hainsley and Sara to get out of here, and for her to get on with this ghost business.